


no grave can hold my body down

by AssyEr



Category: The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Introspection, Jonny is there but not enough to main tag, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Naked Cuddling, Sleeping Together, background Jonny d'Ville/Gunpowder Tim, but arent together so, in the sense that they fucked, jonny being surprisingly soft, mechanism description, recently mechanized tim, tims fucked up eyes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:15:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28745334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AssyEr/pseuds/AssyEr
Summary: When Tim wakes up, he’s in the same position that when he went to sleep, which should make sense, he wasn’t one to move much on his sleep. Except it doesn’t, because he’s still lying with half of his body on top of Jonny, and why wasn’t he gone?Tim wakes up before Jonny, and thinks about his mechanism.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 57





	no grave can hold my body down

**Author's Note:**

> cuddles
> 
> Title from Work Song, by Hozier

When Tim wakes up, he’s in the same position that when he went to sleep, which should make sense, he wasn’t one to move much on his sleep. Except it doesn’t, because he’s still lying with half of his body on top of Jonny, and _why wasn’t he gone?_

They had had sex. Had been fighting before that, and well, it was a matter of time, he supposed. They had both seen it coming for a while now, so it wasn’t much of a shock when they ended up on Tim’s room.

So they fucked, and then Tim laid on his bed, eyes closed, without a care on the world about what the other man did. He had expected him to get out, or maybe kill him (that had curiously been happening more frequent since Tim got back into shooting, which was very unfair on his opinion).

Tim had felt him get up from the bed, and then the sound of water running from the tap of his bathroom, and, okay, if he wanted to drink some of it before leaving, he was welcome. On his part, Tim moved under the covers. It had been a couple long days, had died more times that he could remember ever have done, and he was fucking tired. If he wanted to sleep on his bed, he would damn do, and fuck whatever Jonny thought of it.

Except that he hadn’t left, just put something on the bedside table, and got right under the covers with him, not a word said about it. Tim went still at that, not saying anything nor opening his eyes, having no idea of what the man was playing at. He grew more bewildered when Jonny pulled him closer, an arm under Tim’s neck, and chin on top of his head, digging on the curls until finding an apparently comfortable position.

Jonny was a cuddly person, was his last thought before succumbing to unconsciousness.

He himself was too, was his first coherent one the next morning.

Tim was now resting his head on top of the right side of his chest, unmoving. Jonny had stayed the whole night, and he didn’t know why, but he was glad.

Figuring that the first mate was still asleep, and that it made no difference, Tim opened his eyes. The room was dark, but it was all the same to him, being able to see perfectly. The chest he was lying on, and the mechanism nestled there.

He hardly ever caught more than the lump under his shirt, normally, except for that time Jonny had burnt to death. But never this closely.

The skin around it was lumpy, stretched, and covered in scars. Irregular. Cables and pieces of metal came out from inside him and dipped in again, forming arcs and panels, that were in some case attached to gears of different sizes, and Tim saw what he was sure was a part of an inner pump. It was hypnotic, to see it rise and fall in the rhythm that must be the mate’s heartbeat.

In the quiet that covered the room, he could hear it working. _Beating_.

Of course, if he tried, he was sure that he could hear his own mechanism too.

Over all, Jonny’s heart looked messy. The metal panels were different, some silver as Nastya’s blood, some golden as Brian’s brass. Most of it were the last one, in fact. The cables differed in color, too. Some of them you could see were cut and attached to different ones in what Tim would almost dare to call a lazy way, the unions covered with something black to make sure they stayed put.

Tim remembered then that the first mate had been the first to be (successfully) mechanized, and it showed.

His own mechanism was much more… fair. Clear. It looked like the person who made it had actually had an idea of what she was doing. Like she hadn’t needed to go back to it a thousand times to patch up any mistake made.

Which didn’t meant that it was pretty. They were disturbing to look at, as he had been told a thousand times (and had seen at the mirror). They moved, a lot, a thousand of little, microscopic pieces spinning and turning to adjust to the movements of a never-still universe. And they extended over half of his face, under the skin and muscles, barely any metal standing out, no cables visible. You couldn’t see most of it anyway, unless Tim settled under a strong light.

The parts you could see under the skin were the ones that sometimes glowed, or moved in a noticeable, not to say brusque, way, those he could feel turned the muscles attached to them, normally hurting him in the process. Tim could hear them too, when his mechanism abused his flesh a bit too much, and broke something inside of him. He found the sound similar to that of a high tension cable snapping.

And his mechanism was completely brass, unlike Jonny’s. He supposed that it had been settled as the best material to make the stuff, for some reason.

Gold parts emerged below his eyebrows, the high part of his cheek, and where his forehead met hair. They dragged a bit of skin around the edges of the brass, but he somehow managed to go without any noticeable scar.

He wonder if it felt uncomfortable on Jonny’s chest.

It made looking at Tim a traumatic experience on its own, but it wasn’t like the ones who looked at him this days didn’t have enough trauma on their own to throw around. His face was pretty mild in comparison, he had been told.

_For now_ , the gunner remembered. Tim hadn’t been to any show with the crew yet, but they had already included him on the band. Gave him parts to play, made sure he learned the act.

He wondered what it would be like, performing in front of a stage full of people, feel their gaze fixed on his face. Maybe they would whisper, make comments that he wouldn’t be allowed to give his violent response to until they finished playing.

Jonny’s hand behind him moved, and burrowed on his hair, gently petting it. Tim supposed he must be awake, now, but the first mate made no other movement to make that known. Neither did Tim, deciding to just enjoy the peace while it lasted.

He closed his eyes, resisting the urge to hum. Even if he didn’t see the pump anymore, he could still hear with his left ear the tic tic of the mechanism. It was nice.

Tim drifted back to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> cuddles
> 
> listen things might be fucked up for tim at the moment and he might be a bit of a genocidal, war criminal bastard pirate now and then but he still deserves nice things and comfort. We all got hobbies
> 
> Thank you for reading! if you feel like leaving one, kudos and comments literally make my day :D


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